


Sugar, We're Goin' Down Swinging

by animeangelriku



Series: Sugar, We're Goin' Down Swinging [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (THERE'S A TAG FOR THAT? I LOVE THIS FANDOM), (VERY light it's almost non-existent), Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sugar Daddy Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29453652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animeangelriku/pseuds/animeangelriku
Summary: “I’ve got a surprise for youuuuu,” Crowley singsongs, the pitch of his voice slightly lower than usual.“Is that so?” Aziraphale asks, and he really shouldn’t be surprised at how ragged he sounds already. It’s ridiculous, truly, what Crowley’s voice does to him on a regular basis, let alone when he plays at seducing Aziraphale.“Mh-hm,” Crowley hums. “Will you close your eyes for me?”I’ll do anything you want me to do,Aziraphale thinks and closes his eyes, biting his tongue lest the traitorous words rip their way out of his throat. Perhaps he’ll speak them later, when he has Crowley begging and shaking apart on his hands.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Sugar, We're Goin' Down Swinging [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163456
Comments: 29
Kudos: 202
Collections: Ineffablexxx - Directors Cut, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Sugar, We're Goin' Down Swinging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaroMoreau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/gifts).



> This only came to be because Naro said "sugar daddy Aziraphale fic" and I blacked out, so this is for her. ARE YOU HAPPY, NARO?! HAVE I MADE YOU PROUD?! I unironically hope so, and I hope I did the concept justice. 
> 
> Shoutout to everyone in the basement who encouraged me to write this. I wouldn't have been able to finish it so quickly otherwise!
> 
> Happy Valentines Day, GO fandom!

Aziraphale takes a sip from his scotch and lets out a long, relaxed breath.

Spring is finally starting to give way to summer. It gives him the chance to take advantage of the chairs by the pool, where he can sit down and read to the quietness of his private property. He doesn’t usually care much for the pool or its nearby chairs, but Crowley mentioned an interest in swimming, and Aziraphale hopes that being here rather than indoors will entice him to go for a swim… or at the very least sit with Aziraphale with as little clothing as possible.

His darling boy has such bad heat tolerance, poor thing. Even this weather might prove too hot for him.

Aziraphale takes out his pocket watch and frowns slightly. Speaking of Crowley, he should have been home by now. Aziraphale isn’t sure where he went, as Crowley just told him he was ‘going out,’ but he usually doesn’t take so long. Could something have happened to him? Surely Crowley would’ve called him if that were the case—

He shakes his head to himself. Crowley owes him no explanation for anything: not for where he goes or what he does or what time he comes back. That has always been their Arrangement, and it has worked wonderfully so far, and Aziraphale will not be the one to make a mess of it.

He places his glass of scotch on the table beside him and gently turns the page of the book on his lap.

Just then, he hears, distantly, Crowley’s car pulling into the property.

Aziraphale feels his heartbeat increasing, and he wills himself to calm down. He’s not a schoolboy with a bloody crush on the pretty boy in his class, he’s an adult man in a mutually beneficent sexual relationship with the most brilliant, cunning, stunning, _beautiful_ man he has ever met.

Another shake of his head.

 _You’re an adult man,_ Aziraphale reminds himself. _An **old** man, to be precise._ He knows better than this.

With great effort, he forces his attention back to his worn copy of _Four Quartets_ and waits for Crowley to call for him—hoping he will, really.

It’s eight minutes and thirty-three seconds (not that Aziraphale kept count) before he hears Crowley’s voice behind him.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Oh!” The next words sound closer, like Crowley has stepped outside. “There you are! Getting some fresh air?”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale says. “How were your errands?”

“Productive,” Crowley answers, and Aziraphale smiles to himself, thankful that Crowley can’t see it. “Actually, are you busy?”

Aziraphale lifts his gaze from his book. He’s never too busy for Crowley, _never_ , much less when his tone has begun shifting into a coy sultriness that would be impossible for anyone else to pull off. For Crowley, it comes like second nature.

“No, not at all,” Aziraphale replies, gently closing _Four Quartets_ and setting it down next to his glass, ready to stand up from his seat. Crowley has presented him with an invitation, and Aziraphale will always accept it.

He has barely clasped the arms of his chair when Crowley says, firm and commandingly, “Stay right there.”

A shiver runs down Aziraphale’s spine. He sits back down and folds his hands on his lap.

Crowley is not often in charge. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, and it’s not that _Aziraphale_ doesn’t like it—he has simply noticed that his darling boy prefers to be taken care of, looked after, even though he will never admit it out loud. He will say that he wants to be bent, broken, fucked, _claimed_ , and Aziraphale will happily oblige, but he has also learned to read between the lines, both the spoken ones and the ones on Crowley’s handsome face. He knows when Crowley would rather they take it slow despite his pleas for Aziraphale to _“just get on with it,”_ and he’s not above holding him down to give him exactly what he needs.

But Crowley has set the scene. It’s only fair Aziraphale lets it unfold.

“I’ve got a surprise for youuuuu,” Crowley singsongs, the pitch of his voice slightly lower than usual.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale asks, and he really shouldn’t be surprised at how ragged he sounds already. It’s ridiculous, truly, what Crowley’s voice does to him on a regular basis, let alone when he plays at seducing Aziraphale.

“Mh-hm,” Crowley hums. “Will you close your eyes for me?”

 _I’ll do anything you want me to do,_ Aziraphale thinks and closes his eyes, biting his tongue lest the traitorous words rip their way out of his throat. Perhaps he’ll speak them later, when he has Crowley begging and shaking apart on his hands.

Good lord, heat is beginning to build in his pelvis, in his belly, his fingers curling on his lap, his mind racing with images of what this surprise of Crowley’s might be. A new outfit? Aziraphale _loves_ watching Crowley try on clothes, especially if his dear boy decides to give him a show and parade himself as if he were on his very own runway.

Oh, he can perfectly picture Crowley twirling in front of him before he loses his patience and pulls him forward, desperate to have him gasping and writhing on his lap, his open mouth hot and damp as he begs for Aziraphale’s touch.

Aziraphale swallows a moan and presses the heel of his hand to his cock through his trousers.

 _Breathe,_ he orders his terribly weak body. _Calm down, for Heaven’s sake._

It’s frankly outrageous how much he desires Crowley, how much he craves him, _all_ the time. He hasn’t even _seen_ him yet!

His eyes still closed, Aziraphale inhales deeply. Now that he has pulled his thoughts to the present, he can hear the soft _click-clack, click-clack, click-clack_ of Crowley’s footsteps, and saliva pools embarrassingly in his mouth. Crowley is so frustratingly breathtaking no matter what, but he has a way of wearing heels like they were _made_ for him, like they were designed and tailored just for him.

The _click-clack_ grows louder until it comes to a halt and Aziraphale can almost feel Crowley standing in front of him. His skin itches with the anticipation.

“Right,” Crowley says, and… That’s odd. He sounds nervous. Aziraphale’s first instinct is to reassure him, which is impossible given his current situation. He can’t think of anything that would make Crowley sound even remotely close to nervous. What could possibly be the matter? “You can open your eyes… now.”

Aziraphale does as he’s told, and he subsequently feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. 

“Oh,” he exhales. “Oh, my _dear._ ”

Crowley is wearing heels indeed, a pair of black stiletto pumps that accentuate his slender legs. His chest is covered by thin, black elastic straps forming a sort of bodice around his gorgeously pink nipples and upper torso, dropping into a mesh gown that flows all the way down to his heels, with a slit at each side of his adorable bellybutton to let him show off his mouthwatering thighs, the long expanse of his lithe calves. Underneath the gown and harness, he’s wearing lace knickers that are not even knickers, they’re just a black band with a strip of lace around it and a piece of mesh fabric covering Crowley’s half-hard cock, decorating it with two small pink bows, like a present.

And sweet God Almighty, what a present it is.

Crowley… He has _never_ worn lingerie around Aziraphale, _for_ Aziraphale, but Lord Above, he had _nothing_ to be nervous about. As if Aziraphale would ever judge him or express distaste for something Crowley acquired for him, as if he would ever judge him for anything he did or wore or fancied.

Crowley doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms, having no pockets where he can hide his hands, so he ultimately raises them above his head and bends them back, letting Aziraphale see all of him.

“So?” he asks, the seductiveness in his voice betrayed by the nervousness still lingering there.

As if Aziraphale would ever not want him.

“Oh, Crowley,” he breathes. “You are _stunning._ ”

He always is, a masterpiece of flesh and muscle and bone, but now he looks like he has manifested himself directly out of Aziraphale’s dirtiest, most indulgent fantasies, displaying himself like a goddamn feast to be praised and subsequently devoured.

Crowley’s golden eyes, free of the sunglasses he often wears everywhere but here, darken with hunger, the loveliest, softest of blushes pinkening his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost timidly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, reaching for his glass of scotch, because his throat is _parched_. “Won’t you turn around for me, my boy?”

This Crowley excels at. Having regained his ego, he stands tall and twirls slowly, a peacock showing off his plumage, his heels _click-clacking_ against the tiled floor with every step he takes. Each peek at his bare skin through the slits of his gown makes Aziraphale take another sip from his scotch. Good. He won’t even have to waste time undressing Crowley. 

“Simply magnificent,” Aziraphale adds as he watches Crowley turn his back to him and sway his hips, his pert, biteable arse bare beneath the so-called knickers and gown. How he wants to press his fingers to the flesh, knead and tug and pull at it until he has left bruises.

“You think so?” Crowley asks, the question dripping with faux innocence.

“Positively _sinful_ ,” Aziraphale snarls, fingers tightening around his glass. 

Crowley looks at him over his shoulder, and the way he bats his eyelashes, beckoning, is almost enough to force Aziraphale out of his seat and over to him. But he waits. Crowley told him to stay put, and unless he’s commanded otherwise, Aziraphale intends to do just that.

“D’you really like it?” his darling questions, barely louder than a whisper, lowering his eyes before he glances up at Aziraphale again. As he turns back to face him, his cock strains against the mesh fabric covering it, and Aziraphale wants nothing more than to have it in his mouth.

Well. Just because he was told to stay put doesn’t mean he can’t do a bit of beckoning of his own.

“Why don’t you come here,” Aziraphale murmurs, grabbing his book from the small, round table beside him and placing it and his glass on the floor next to his chair, “and let me show you how much I do?”

It only takes Crowley a few steps forward to be within Aziraphale’s reach, and as soon as he is, Aziraphale grabs him by the hips and _hauls_ him up onto the table, sitting him right on the edge. He knows Crowley likes being manhandled every now and then, evident even now by his parted lips and lust-filled gaze, and while Aziraphale enjoys teasing him about it when the mood strikes him, this is not the time for it.

“Azirapha—” Crowley begins, only for Aziraphale’s name to turn into a scream when he leans down, pushes the front of the mesh gown aside, and mouths at the line of Crowley’s cock. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

Crowley falls back against the table, arms thrown over his head, and Aziraphale takes this opportunity to run his hands over the skin of Crowley’s thighs, his fingernails scratching the thin red hair as his teeth graze the mesh fabric of the lace knickers.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aziraphale whispers, his breath hot and damp, and he can’t help smiling at the small shiver that courses through Crowley’s body. “You should not have been so worried.”

“W-worried?” Crowley repeats wobblily. “I—I wasn’t—”

“I always find you extremely delectable, darling,” Aziraphale goes on, because he needs to reassure Crowley that _nothing_ could ever change how he feels about him, how much he hungers for him, and he refuses to let Crowley believe otherwise. “And how could I not find you even more so now, when you went and prepared this surprise just for me?”

He hears Crowley stuttering through a response, but he’s grown quite desperate, and he wants to taste the gorgeously red, thick cock in front of him right _now_ , please. So Aziraphale grabs the elastic band around Crowley’s hipbones between his thumbs and slides the lace knickers down his legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley whimpers as Aziraphale gently places his legs over his shoulders, his back arching off the table. He hears Crowley’s stilettos clacking to the floor, and his heels dig into Aziraphale’s back. “Aziraphale, fuck, please, _please…_ ”

Really, how can Aziraphale resist such lovely begging, especially coming from his darling boy’s sweet, sweet mouth?

Taking Crowley down to the root is no hardship. Aziraphale loves pleasuring Crowley any and every way, but he rather fancies feeling the weight of Crowley’s prick on his tongue, feeling the head graze the back of his throat, pushing his nose against Crowley’s pubes and inhaling the scent of him, of his sweat, and he hollows his cheeks and swallows around him and sears every single sound Crowley makes into his memory.

“A- _Angel_ ,” Crowley gasps, one of his hands curling in Aziraphale’s hair. That’s quite all right—Aziraphale has no qualms about having his hair tugged, and if the sting on his scalp brings a moan out of him and helps him bring Crowley closer to his release, then all the better.

He can tell Crowley won’t last much longer if the way his cock twitches and spills beads of precome on Aziraphale’s tongue is anything to go by, and he’s about to redouble his efforts when Crowley thrusts his hips up into his mouth.

Aziraphale pets his thighs. His poor dear gets so desperate when he’s this close, but Aziraphale will get him there, and he translates this message by skimming just the tips of his fingers over the skin of Crowley’s hipbones. They have gotten quite efficient at communicating without words, which serves them well in this kind of situation, where Aziraphale is otherwise occupied and Crowley cannot muster anything other than random combinations of letters Aziraphale shouldn’t find as endearing as he does.

But then Crowley thrusts his hips up again, this time harder, and Aziraphale has known him long enough to recognise when he’s being challenged.

Oh, _naughty_ boy. 

Aziraphale pulls away, letting his lips suck around the head of Crowley’s cock before he regretfully releases him.

 _“Aziraphale,”_ Crowley groans, his sinuous hips continuing to thrust up into the air, his flushed prick resting long and curved against his belly.

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale says sternly, and relishes Crowley’s whine and the fast, heavy rise of his chest. He wraps his hands around Crowley’s waist and presses his thumbs into the dips of his hips over the mesh gown, almost hard enough to feel the bone beneath the flesh, and _fuck_ if Crowley’s hiss of both pain and arousal is not the sexiest thing he has ever heard. “ _Do_ be still for me, please.”

Aziraphale wraps his lips around Crowley’s gorgeous cock and slowly bobs his head, letting his tongue press against the veins on the underside, swallowing around him, hollowing his cheeks as he makes slurping sounds, perfectly aware they drive Crowley nearly to blindness with desire. He pulls away just for a second to lick at the slit on the head of Crowley’s cock as if it were a lolly, and he pushes Crowley’s hips down with his thumbs when he feels him trying to thrust up into him.

“ _Fuck_ , angel, you’re— _ah!_ —y-you’re killing me!” Crowley moans, using his grip on Aziraphale’s hair to push Aziraphale further down until he’s almost gagging. His own cock twitches in his trousers, painfully hard and smearing the fabric, but he focuses on Crowley, on his beautiful boy, who is almost there, so close to the edge, and Aziraphale so desperately wants him to come down his throat that he tightens his mouth around Crowley’s prick and sucks like he was born for it.

“Oh!” Crowley screams, and his fingernails scratch Aziraphale’s scalp, and he groans delightedly. “Fuck, f-fuck, FUCK, _Aziraphale!_ ”

And then Crowley’s coming, spilling in his mouth, and Aziraphale swallows him down, sucking his cock until Crowley mewls, pushing at his shoulders as he trembles with the aftershocks.

When he finally straightens, gently lowers Crowley’s legs from his shoulders, and glances at the stunning man beneath him, the breath is nearly knocked out of him again.

Crowley’s exposed skin, the bits of flesh that are not covered by his harness, is flushed and hot to the touch, dewy with sweat. His mouth is parted as he struggles to even his breathing with big, damp puffs of air. His gown flows beneath him and down to the ground. His hands slowly loosen their grip on Aziraphale’s hair, moving instead to wrap around his shoulders and pull him down for an open, filthy kiss.

Kissing is something Aziraphale has always been a big fan of, but he has never liked it as much as he does when it’s Crowley he’s kissing. Their mouths fit perfectly together. Crowley often pouts his lower lip so that Aziraphale can suck it between his, swiping his tongue across it until Crowley tugs it into his own mouth and nips at it, all the while making wet little noises that go straight to Aziraphale’s prick.

Still holding Crowley by the hips, Aziraphale pulls him up and sits back down on his chair with Crowley’s legs straddling him, the front of the gown pushed to the side showing off his cock, slick with Aziraphale’s spit.

“My dear,” he begins, tucking one stray lock of hair behind Crowley’s ear, but then Crowley grips his shoulders and grinds down against him, forcing a choked-off moan out of Aziraphale. His neglected cock makes itself known again, straining against his trousers, and Crowley smirks wickedly, an enticing gesture that quirks up the corner of his equally enticing mouth.

“Can’t have all the fun myself,” Crowley pants, breathless. The movement of his hips is serpentine, a dancing sin, the artwork of a tempter, and Aziraphale has fallen like a shooting star, fast and headfirst, into the jaws of the snake, and he would not have it any other way.

He grabs Crowley’s pretty arse, kneads the flesh on his hands, sinks his fingers on his cheeks and pulls at them to hear Crowley moan shamelessly, grinding down harder against him. 

_“Aziraphale,”_ he whines, and his cock is starting to harden again, and Aziraphale’s mouth waters.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to Crowley’s pulse point to suck a bruise onto his neck. It is such a contrast to feel both Crowley’s arse on his hands and the mesh fabric of his gown brushing against the backs of his palms, but it is a contrast that only heightens Aziraphale’s arousal.

Crowley whimpers, a high-pitched sound that makes Aziraphale shiver. He realises, suddenly, that he has not paid attention to Crowley’s chest, to his cute nipples, and that will simply not stand. He does so love to lave them with his tongue, pinch them between his fingers, tug on them with his teeth until they are hard and flushed.

Reluctant to let go of his arse, Aziraphale uses one hand to scratch lightly over Crowley’s right nipple and wraps his lips around the left one. Crowley’s response is immediately, canting his hips upwards with such strength, Aziraphale is tempted to hold him down again, to keep him still while he thrusts up against him, giving his cock the friction he desperately craves. Oh, but it’s not Crowley’s fault, and Aziraphale knows it. His darling has such deliciously sensitive nipples, he knew what he was in for.

“ _Hngh_ , ang—Aziraph— _ngh_!”

“Hush, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, trailing kisses from one nipple to the other and then to his breastbones, his collarbones, every bit of skin that is exposed and bared for Aziraphale’s mouth to mark.

Crowley pushes back against Aziraphale’s hand on his arse, and one of his fingers slips and presses slightly, just barely, really, completely unintentionally, to his slick rim.

Crowley lets out a wounded noise.

It can’t be. It can’t possibly… But it _is…_

Aziraphale pulls back from Crowley’s chest and stares at him. His dear boy’s eyes are closed, his brow furrowed in ecstasy, one of his sharp canines fiercely biting down on his lower lip. Could it be…?

He grabs Crowley’s arse with both hands once more. His finger pushes tenderly between the globes of his cheeks and finds his hole, tracing the outside of it before pressing so easily, so smoothly inside. 

Aziraphale gasps, the sound deafened by Crowley’s broken moan.

“Oh, my dear,” he breathes as Crowley pushes back against his finger, trying to pull him deeper, sucking him greedily. “Is this part of your surprise?” he wonders, and he asks the question with his teeth grazing the sharp line of Crowley’s jaw. “Were you hoping for this?”

“Fuck yes,” Crowley growls, not even pretending to deny it. He’s flushed all over, the exposed patches of skin painted pink and bearing the purpling, blossoming marks left by Aziraphale’s mouth. His nails dig into Aziraphale’s shoulders, and he hisses with the pleasure of it. “Wh-why else would I— _ah_ —w-wear this if I wasn’t gonna s-show it to— _ngh_ , shit, fuck, _angel_ —”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Crowley’s chest. He glows at the words, at the thought of Crowley buying and wearing this for _him_ , at the mental image of Crowley preparing himself before changing into his pretty lingerie. Did he tease himself open on the bed they share, his legs spread wide, feet against the mattress, moaning Aziraphale’s name? Did he stroke himself, picturing Aziraphale above him muttering words of praise and encouragement? Was he on his knees, perhaps, wishing Aziraphale were pressing him down to the bed, draped over him as he thrust into him?

Crowley shoves his hips forward, and Aziraphale is so close himself, half a second away from coming in his trousers. He slips a second and then a third finger inside Crowley, scissoring him open, curling the tip of one of them until Crowley _keens_ , his back arching beautifully.

“Angel,” he whines, sweat dampening his hair and beading down his temples. Aziraphale wants to lick it off him. “Angel, fuck me, please fuck me…” Crowley’s hands move down to Aziraphale’s trousers, nimble fingers undoing the button and zip to pull out his cock soaked in precome, and Aziraphale swears. “Want your cock inside me, I’ll take it so good, make you feel so good, _please…_ ”

“Oh,” Aziraphale moans. “I know you will, sweet thing.” He pulls his fingers away, shushing Crowley’s hiss with a kiss. He strokes himself, smearing his own precome and what slickness stuck to his fingers over his prick, and then he takes Crowley’s lovely, finger-bruised hips through slits on his gown and drags him forward.

Crowley does not need to be persuaded. He lifts himself up on his knees, holding Aziraphale’s cock in one of his hands, and sinks down without any patience whatsoever, immediately taking Aziraphale to the hilt.

They both groan out loud, pushing their mouths together as Crowley begins to move, fucking himself on Aziraphale’s cock. He’s so tight, so hot inside, his body clinging to Aziraphale like a vine, and Aziraphale thinks—a bit hysterically, and certainly not for the first time—that he would like to spend hours like this, letting Crowley ride him or fucking him into the bed or having Crowley fuck him, whatever Crowley wants, as long as their bodies can remain entwined like this, joined together with the sole purpose of bringing pleasure to each other.

Crowley swivels his hips, impaling himself on Aziraphale’s prick until the head grazes his prostate, and he arches into Aziraphale and does it again, over and over and over again, driving Aziraphale mad with ecstasy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he has a feeling Crowley won’t, either. Oh, how he wants to make Crowley come again, wants to watch him come undone this time, and he grips his hips and thrusts into him hard and fast, at Crowley’s preferred pace, relishing the slap of the back of Crowley’s thighs against his, the sound of his darling boy’s short, panting breaths.

“Will you come again for me, Crowley?” Aziraphale licks his palm and wraps it around Crowley’s cock, spreading the beads at the slit over the head. Crowley screams, and although his hips stutter, he does not stop, simultaneously fucking himself on Aziraphale’s cock and into his slick hand. The blush on his cheeks is so breathtaking, so sinful, and Aziraphale leans forward to pull his pouting bottom lip between his teeth. “Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Crowley whimpers, his arms wrapping around Aziraphale’s neck so he can grasp a fistful of his hair and tug him into another kiss. “Ngh, Azir—angel, I’m— _fuck_ , ‘m gonna—”

“Yes…” Aziraphale strokes him faster, fucks him harder, his own climax rapidly building in his pelvis, but he wants Crowley to come first. “Come for me, you gorgeous thing.”

 _Give me all of you,_ he doesn’t say.

Crowley nods his head fiercely and grunts a series of consonants from the back of his throat, and with one more thrust into Aziraphale’s hand, he comes with a cry, spilling himself over Aziraphale’s fingers and waistcoat, still perfectly, neatly done up.

It is the most erotic sight in the world: Crowley’s pink, flushed skin beneath his harness, his mesh gown pooled behind him and at his side, exposing his softening cock. He is beauty and temptation incarnate, as alluring as the forbidden fruit—Aziraphale never stood a chance.

It only takes him one, two, three more snaps of his hips, and then he’s coming inside Crowley, biting Crowley’s shoulder to try (and fail) to lessen the intensity of his moan. Crowley lets out a needy whine, and Aziraphale cannot possibly deny him, and he cups the back of Crowley’s neck and brings him down to swallow the noise.

They stay exactly like that for several minutes, exchanging wet, lewd kisses, tongues licking inside each other’s mouths and their teeth clacking together, their breaths hot and damp over the other’s lips.

Eventually, Aziraphale helps lift Crowley off him, petting his thighs when he winces with oversensitivity. Crowley sits back on his lap, his hands clasping Aziraphale’s shoulders to steady himself, and his eyes are still dark with arousal, and his smile is soft and so terribly kissable, and Aziraphale loves him.

Oh.

Aziraphale loves him.

He kisses Crowley again. There’s no room for those feelings in this Arrangement, but if he can go on pretending nothing has changed, it will be fine. It must be. He’ll make sure of it.

He pulls apart and can’t help smiling at the content, relaxed hum Crowley exhales.

“Y’liked your surprise, I reckon,” Crowley mumbles smugly, sated.

“Oh, yes, quite,” Aziraphale says, nuzzling his neck. “I very much enjoy you in lingerie, my boy.”

“Good,” Crowley sighs, shivering at the first press of Aziraphale’s tongue to his throat. “’Cause you paid for it.”

“Did I?” he muses, sucking lovebites onto the flesh.

“Technically.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t care what Crowley spends his money on. He has plenty of it, and if he’s not going to spend it himself, he might as well give it to someone who will. It’s part of their Arrangement—Aziraphale does not ask questions, and Crowley is in no way obligated to tell him anything. He owes him no explanations, and yet he often gives them, most times bringing Aziraphale a book or trinket he “came across” on the way. 

Fuck. Aziraphale loves him.

“I also got some other stuff,” Crowley adds when Aziraphale moves to the other side of his neck.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Wanna see?”

Aziraphale has never said no to Crowley, and he’s not about to start now.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know where to add these in the fic itself, so here's the [harness/mesh gown](https://xdress.com/collections/mens-lingerie/products/mens-strappy-mesh-gown) and [lace knickers](https://es.aliexpress.com/item/32844396197.html) Crowley's wearing, or at least their inspirations!
> 
> Listen, I was just going to write this oneshot but then these two dumbasses started having FEELINGS and BACKSTORY and so now it's gonna become a series. I'm only human. 
> 
> Please consider leaving kudos and a comment if you liked this! You can also check out my [Tumblr](animeangelriku.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/animeangelriku), and [NSFW Twitter](https://twitter.com/animedemonriku)!


End file.
